Butterfly knife
by evmantheawesome
Summary: A madman enters Equestria. Will he turn sane, or just kill everypony? M for sex n stuff.


An experimental form of writing. Dark as hell, don't like don't read

Disclaimer: I don't own MLP:FiM. Probably never will.

Takes place during Season 2, just before the wedding/invasion. Enjoy!

* * *

_klink klink clink klink, klink klink clink klink_

I love my butterfly knife.

The way the metal flashes between my fingers, blade hiding in it's handle, swinging out, then going in again. It's mesmerizing. It reminds me of a real butterfly, the handle makes a flapping movement, as if trying to fly from my hand. I love the rhythm of metal on metal, better than any song.

But I love the solid, deep note of metal in flesh even more.

All because of my pretty little butterfly knife.

I remembered when I first got it. It was when the snow covered everything but the roads and sidewalks. I was taking a little walk, remembering my past. I saw the schoolyard, where a group of little kids would kick me on the ground, calling me "Crazy Dave" and "Stupid Dave". My real name was David, and I was most definitely not stupid, but they didn't care. The teachers didn't care either. I thought the teachers would care, the teachers said that they would help with anything from the very first day.

But all they did was watch and laugh.

"Suck it up, you pussy."

That's what my daddy said. I didn't know what a pussy meant, so I flipped through the little book that had all the words I didn't know. It said that a pussy was a cat. And then it all clicked.

There was always a grey cat stalking around our neighborhood. People kicked it and the cat did nothing back. Then the kickers would just get bored and leave it be. So I had to act like a cat. Whenever people would hit me, I wouldn't be trying to hit back, or say anything. Eventually they did it less and less.

One day they stopped hitting me, they just ignored me. It was better that way. But then I noticed something. There was always a group of mean people that would mess with not just me, but other people. They would pick on them and push them around. I hated seeing people go through what I had; I knew how painful it must have been.

So, going back to that chilly winter night, when all those thoughts came back to me, I saw a little shop. It had all sorts of weapons: guns, grenades, and swords. Curious, I stepped inside.

It was run by an elderly man who looked like he had been in the militarily. He was sitting behind the counter, reading a book. He looked up when the door opened. "Hello sir," he said, getting up, "what would you like to buy?"

So many things to hurt people with, for payback of those meanies who had managed to hurt and even kill more and more good people in the time between my childhood days and now. I wondered why they weren't in jail. They all looked so beautiful, but I needed to get something small and silent. The glass counter was filled with pretty little knives, all of them gleaming at me, as if each piece of sharp metal where waving.

"I'd like to buy a knife, but so many to chose from!" I said, my hands, shaking from excitement. He raised an eyebrow, finding it strange at how much I wanted one. But he pointed at one called a butterfly knife. "You can do all sorts of tricks with this, impress your friends. Be careful, though, this one's very sharp."

Oh, I would be careful.

I would make sure each little stab would end someone who deserved it.

Practice makes perfect.

I spent a whole year practicing, planning, preparing. Flipping my pretty little black blade. I called it, no, her Raven; she was beautiful like a flying animal, like a butterfly, and would strike like knife. I never told anybody about what I was going to do. Even so, they could feel it. The people who had caused them so much pain and suffering where about to get a big dose of empathy. But they did notice that I was "going mad"

They didn't mean any harm by it. They where just concerned, that's all. But I wasn't going mad, just thinking, acting differently, that's all. As the day that justice would be served drew closer, the day that would be the criminals' last, my actions became wilder and wilder. I would strike cats, the ones that would scratch me on the way to work. _Practice_, I thought, _practice makes_ perfect.

The night I would do it, the night those bad, bad people would get what they deserved, I had my wildest thought yet. What would it feel like for them? Without a second thought, I opened Raven and plunged her blade into my chest. Pain, worse than when I was practicing with Raven once and I chopped my pinkie off with her. _This is perfect_, I thought, _just what they should get._

I took Raven from my chest, ignoring the almost blinding pain, and folded her up. Now I would be on...

My...

* * *

Where am I?

I wasn't in my apartment, nor any part of the town that I had never left and was oh so familiar with. Instead, I was at the edge of a forest, a dark and scary one. I couldn't see anything except for the forest and open field. Wait a minute, was that a cabin?

A small structure to my left was barely visible; it was along the edge of the dense grouping of trees. The only reason I could see it was because it was just below the quickly setting sun. I hurried towards it, maybe whoever lived there could tell me where I was.

After a good five minute jog, I had finally reached the building, which was indeed a cabin. I stood outside, my breathing ragged as the sun set lower in the sky. I finally managed to get to the door and knock.

"Excuse me, anyone home? I believe I am lost and-"

The door swung open. A butter yellow pony stood at the door, yawning.

...

"AAH!"

The creature and I backed away from each other, scared out of out wits by the unexpected presence. We stood still, staring at the other. Finally, I got up from the ground, slowly as not to startle. "P-Please," I stuttered, still a bit shocked by the situation, "I m-mean no harm. Do... do you know where I am?"

The pony (not a horse, horses have longer legs and where less chubby) breathed heavily before answering:

"P-P-Ponyville."


End file.
